Nadia
Nadia Kwon has always known what it feels like to be watched.
Not in a paranoid way. In a practical way.
Pretty women get watched. Women alone at night get watched. Students who look like they don’t belong in the neighborhoods their universities sit in get watched.
She’s learned to move through it with her head up and her keys between her fingers.
But this is different.
This has been two days of the same car.
A slate-grey sedan parked across the street from the medical library, sometimes with tinted windows, sometimes with a man pretending to scroll on his phone in the driver’s seat. The first day, she told herself it was a coincidence. The second day, she started timing it.
8:12 AM: car already there.
12:36 PM: car still there.
6:04 PM: car moved to a new angle, still watc
